


You're All That I Adore

by hvalasejan (Killjoy_Linnea)



Series: Trust (the Croatian Mess™) [2]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Light-Hearted, M/M, as usual, because guess what the next one will be back to angst and smut, luka captains and the rest of them are little shits, we need relief in between, Šime is lazy and dejan is supportive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 13:49:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15887298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killjoy_Linnea/pseuds/hvalasejan
Summary: Šime takes a couple of deep breaths to try to get some sort of composure back. He will never leave this bed again. He is aware that the correlation between sex and worsened athletic performance is a myth, but he also thinks that perhaps he’s going to regret this entire day at practice tomorrow.OR, Šime just wants a calm day in bed after all the drama and Dejan wants to be supportive of his boyfriend's life decisions. Luka shows why he's captain of this Croatian Mess™ and Mandžu has the best day of his life. It's a great day all in all.- Continuation of Trust, My Love (Will Keep You Safe From The Wolves) but can be read independantly -





	You're All That I Adore

**Author's Note:**

> i'm at it again and my education is suffering, but guys IT'S ALMOST NATIONS LEAGUE. 
> 
> This could probably have used a few more read throughs but i honestly jsut wanted to post. sue me.

Dejan loves waking up before Šime. He gets to enjoy a bit of peace and quiet, all alone with his thoughts. He is softer now, than he was before getting together with Šime. It is never as evident to himself as when he lies awake, gently stroking Šime’s back or drawing circles on his arm. His breath catches in his throat when Šime rolls over and cuddles up next to him, putting his head on top of Dejan’s chest. For a few moments, Dejan is afraid that his racing heartbeat is going to wake Šime up. It doesn’t, and Šime sleeps peacefully on Dejan’s chest as it rises and falls in a steady rhythm. Dejan knows that this will be over soon. They’ll have to go back to their clubs and this is become a rarity. Dejan swallows the lump in his throat and pulls his fingers slowly through Šime’s hair. Šime shifts. 

“You have to stop waking me up,” he murmurs, barely audible. His raspy voice makes Dejan smile. 

“Then stop being so beautiful,” Dejan replies. 

Šime scoffs. “Too early to be so cheesy, Dejo.”

“We’ll have to get up soon if we wanna go out with the rest of the boys today,” Dejan reminds him, kissing his forehead.

“No!” Šime groans. “I don’t want to go out today. Can’t you tell them we’re not coming? Blame your head.”

“My head?” Dejan asks indignantly. Šime peers up at him. 

“You look worse than yesterday, tell Luka your head hurts after the fight.”

“Are you saying we’re staying in all day so you can nurse me back to health?” Dejan says with a smug smile. 

“I’m saying get out of here and sort this out so I can get some more sleep!” 

“Anything you want, baby,” Dejan says and presses another quick kiss to Šime’s forehead before getting out the the bed. Šime pulls the covers more tightly around his body and nestles in on Dejan’s spot. He sighs comfortably and Dejan has to force himself to take his eyes off his boyfriend and go to the bathroom.

 

It turns out Šime is right, his face does look worse today. There’s light bruising under his eye and along his cheek bone and the split lip is swollen. It’ll be almost invisible by their next game, so Dejan doesn’t have the energy to worry about it. He washes his face with some water. When he reaches for a towel to dry himself off, he catches sight of his shoulder in the mirror. Fuck. He turns around and peers over his shoulder. His shoulders, and most of all his shoulder blades, are littered with short scratches and small bruises courtesy of Šime’s hands and fingernails. That’s not gonna be easy to hide in the dressing room. Dejan closes his eyes, counts to ten and swears revenge. Once he gets back into the bedroom, Šime seems to have fallen asleep again so Dejan sneaks across the room to get a pair of jeans and a t-shirt before as soundlessly as he can, leaving the room behind. He walks past four door and knocks on the fifth. It takes a long time before Luka Modrić opens the door, looking unfairly fresh. He throws a over his shoulder, then slides out into the corridor, closing the door behind him.

“Oh captain, my captain,” Dejan says, crossing his arms over his chest. “How are you never hungover?”

“Lovren,” Luka nods, reaching up to gently grip Dejan’s chin, turning his head to the side to inspect the bruises. He doesn’t look amused, but rather worried. Dejan almost feel bad. 

“I heard you got into a fight,” Luka says and releases his grip. “Please, don’t do that again, Dejo. It had us all worried.”

“I’m fine, Lukita,” Dejan says, his heart quickly sinking into his stomach. “Don’t worry about it. It won’t even be noticeable for our next game.”

Luka’s look hardens. “I don’t care about whether it gets out, Dejan. I care about whether or not you get hurt. Mario told me you were defending Vrsaljko, but seriously. No more fighting. Are we clear?”

Dejan nods. “Crystal.” 

“Good.” Luka softens again and Dejan lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” Dejan says and god knows it’s not a complete lie. “I’m staying in today.”

“I figured,” Luka says with a small smile. “And Vrsaljko?”

“He offered to stay with me.” At that, Luka’s smile widens and for a second, Dejan thinks he has figured it all out. Luka turns and unlocks the door to his room. He pauses, his his hand on the door handle. He looks over his shoulder at Dejan. 

“Tell Vrsaljko he better take good care of you today,” he grins. “It’s the least he can do.”

“Trust me, I’ll never let him hear the end of this,” Dejan promises and Luka laughs wholeheartedly as the door shuts behind him, leaving Dejan alone. 

 

-

 

When Dejan returns, Šime is awake and scrolling on his phone. He glances at Dejan as he enters, but then shifts his attention back to his phone. 

“Is the deed done?” he asks. 

“Yes,” Dejan says, sitting down on the bed next to Šime. “Captain Modrić told me to tell you to take good care of me today.”

“Kiss my ass!” Šime replies. “You started that fight all on your own, so you have to face the consequences alone.”

“Hm, yes,” Dejan agrees, putting his hand on Šime’s leg. “But you see, after I got into that fight, you managed to scratch up my back as I fucked you, so I think I’m entitled to some care today.”

Šime turns around immediately, staring at Dejan. “No way.”

Dejan shrugs and Šime moves quickly across the bed, pulling up Dejan’s t-shirt as soon as he is within reach. The gasp is exactly as dramatic as Dejan thought it’d be. 

“Fuck,” Šime says quietly. “I’m so sorry, Dejo. I didn’t mean to, I can’t even remember doing it. I know we’ve talked about this and that I can’t do that cause you can’t hide it and I…”

“Šime.” Dejan says it firmly, as he only does when Šime really needs to listen carefully. He turns, and the t-shirt falls out of Šime’s hands, once again covering the marks on Dejan’s back. Dejan takes Šime’s hands into his own, giving them a supportive squeeze. 

“I know you didn’t mean to. I was joking,” Dejan says slowly. He can see that Šime’s thoughts are racing. “I didn’t realize you did it either, or I would have said something, but I didn’t feel it. It’s okay.” 

“I’m sorry,” Šime says, pulling Dejan into an embrace. Dejan kisses his temple. 

“It’s okay,” Dejan says. “I guess that means I did pretty well last night.”

“Oh fuck off!” Šime laughs, pushing away from Dejan. He lets himself fall backwards down on the bed again. “You’re not wrong though,” he adds, looking straight at Dejan. “It was fucking great.”

 

-

 

“My God,” Dejan breathes. “That was great.”

“I’m starting to see a pattern,” Šime jokes, equally out of breath. Dejan seemingly can’t form words anymore, so he just grins at Šime. Šime takes a couple of deep breaths to try to get some sort of composure back. He will never leave this bed again. He can’t remember the last time he came this many times in the time span of twenty-four hours. Šime is aware that the correlation between sex and worsened athletic performance is a myth, but he also thinks that perhaps he’s going to regret this at practice tomorrow. He traces the tattoo on Dejan’s upper arm as the high fades. It’s a beautiful piece of art. Despite the crown of thorns and the blood running down his face, the portrayed Jesus looks peaceful with his eyes closed.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” Šime says truthfully. Dejan makes an approving sound. The room is quiet. The day’s last few rays of sunshine has escaped the blinds and dances over the white tapestry. Šime closes his eyes and allows himself half a minute to dream about how his life would be like if he could have this every day. If he could have Dejan with him every day. The picture he paints in his mind tugs at his heart and he doesn’t want to ruin the moment, so he promptly opens his eyes again, trying to ground himself in the present. Dejan gently moves a few rogue strands of hair from Šime’s forehead. Šime shifts so he can meet Dejan’s gaze. 

“What are you thinking about, love?” he asks and Šime can’t lie to him when he looks at him like that.

“You,” he answers, because it isn’t a lie, it’s a half-truth. Dejan’s expression breaks into a smile that borders on shy. He presses a kiss to Šime’s forehead and it looks to Šime as if he’s about to say something else, but he doesn’t get the chance. 

 

A loud wailing sound cuts through the quiet night like a knife and Šime feels like his heart stops. Dejan freezes for a moment, before throwing himself out of bed. It sounds like sirens, or an… alarm. 

“It’s the fire alarm,” Šime says to himself, more than Dejan who is out of earshot anyway. Dejan runs to open the door, sticking his head out. There seems to be a lot of people rushing past. 

“Coach?” Dejan yells to be heard over the noise, hiding his still naked body behind the door while apparently peering out at their coach. 

“Lovren! Get dressed and get Vrsaljko outside now. I don’t think anything is on fire, but I’m not sure.” Dejan nods and closes the door promptly in Dalić’s face. 

“Get up!” he says, turning to Šime. Šime whines in disagreement. He rolls over to Dejan’s side of the bed, out of reach, while Dejan reaches for two pair of jeans on the floor. He throws on at Šime and and pulls the other pair on.

“You heard the man! There’s probably nothing on fire,” he complains. Dejan stares at him with a look that Šime normally only earns in a completely different scenario. He tries to pout at Dejan, but it gets him nowhere. 

“I am capable of carrying you all the way outside, but I thought you might want to be dressed, you know,” Dejan says, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Killjoy,” Šime says and rolls out of bed. There’s a violent pounding on their door. Dejan pulls a t-shirt from a chair and goes to open the door again. This time it’s Mario Mandžukić. He somehow manages to look pissed off and distressed at the same time.

“Are you guys fucking deaf? Let’s move!” he yells, and that has Šime on his feet, following Dejan out in the corridor. It’s about this time Šime regrets not immediately getting up, as he realizes he’s still without shirt or shoes. He self-consciously pulls his hands through his hair, trying to tame the mess that Dejan has surely made of it. Dejan notices, and puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. Dejan smiles softly at him, and Šime can’t help but smile in response. 

“Tone it down, boys,” Mandžukić says, throwing an unimpressed look in their direction. Šime looks at Mario with confusion.

“Tone down what?” he asks, looking at Dejan, who shrugs. 

Mario makes a general gesture at his face. “The fucking glow, bro. It’s not hard to tell what you two have been doing all day.”

Dejan laughs out loud, almost doubling over and it’s the best sound Šime has heard.

 

-

 

Dejan quickly realizes he hadn’t quite grasped how big the hotel is before all of its guests gathers outside it, spilling back into the alley where croatian national team is spread out. He thinks he can spot a few of the british national team’s players in the crowd, but he isn’t sure. There is too much people in general.

“I hope Luka got out, we’d never be able to spot him in this crowd,” Šime says and Dejan snorts. 

“Nonsense,” Mario objects immediately. “You’d get up on mine or Lovren’s shoulders and then it’d be sorted.” 

The monotonic sound of the fire alarm was wearing Dejan’s patience thin, but right as he’s about to make a remark about it, he spots their captain in the crowd and the sight is enough to make him smile.

“Well, you’re safe this time, Šime, because I have eyes on our captain,” Dejan says, pointing to Luka. Šime and Mario turn to look as well. “It seems he was in a hurry to get out.”

When they manage to pick him out from the crowd, Mandžukić breaks into the biggest grin Dejan’s seen in weeks and it’s almost something daunting about it. Šime starts to laugh. 

“I wonder if he knows yet,” he says. Luka Modrić, is now walking towards them, wearing a dark blue practice t-shirt with the the name Rakitić and the number seven on the back. His hair is tousled, like he has just woken up. Or like someone has pulled their hands through it too many times, Dejan notes.

“Are you okay?” he asks them, obviously concerned. He points at Šime’s feet. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“I didn’t have time to grab shoes, I was sleeping,” Šime explains, throwing Dejan a pointed look, daring him to tell them what had actually happened. Mario and Luka exchange a look that makes Šime wonder why he and Dejan even tries to keep their relationship secret.

Luka shakes his head and smiles. “I can’t leave the two of you alone for a minute it seems. Be careful not to step on glass or something on the way back.”

“Luka, I tried to find you last night, when the ah…” Šime trails off, trying to find the correct word. “... the incident. I just wanted to say we’re sorry, we didn’t mean to cause such a fuss.”

A blush spreads over Luka’s cheeks. “Yeah, I was… preoccupied.” Mario smiles at his captain. 

“Luktia,” he says and Dejan has to bite his cheeks as to not burst out laughing. “You do know you’re wearing Ivan’s t-shirt right?” 

Luka slowly looks down and when he spots the number seven on his chest his face goes blank. He looks up at Dejan, Šime and Mario each in turn. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. 

“It was the closest thing I got my hands on,” he says, his cheeks burning red. 

“I bet it was,” Mario answers, grinning at him. 

“I’ve got to… uh…” Luka gestures behind him, turns around and disappears into the crowd. Šime breaks first, howling with laughter he leans on Dejan to prevent doubling over. Dejan can’t help but laugh either. He has never seen Luka caught so off guard before and it is a glorious sight.  

“Did you see his face?!” Šime wheezes. Mario shakes his head, still grinning from ear to ear. 

“This is the best day of my life,” he says.

At the same time, the fire alarm goes quiet and a voice carried by a megaphone announces that everyone can get back to their rooms. A sigh of relief sweeps through the crowd and together they all start to slowly walk back to their rooms. Dejan thinks to himself that he is willing to agree with Mario. All in all, it's a pretty great day.

**Author's Note:**

> i fucking love all of you who leave comments and kudos, god bless you all. Stay tuned for more content.


End file.
